


New Negotiations

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: It's nearly time for Blake and Gwen to go to Mexico. But first.





	New Negotiations

“I know what my gravestone’s gonna say now, y’know,” he says, wincing as he pulls out and flops ungracefully over on his back, rolling her with him.  “Here lies Blake Shelton, a so-and-so redneck singer who was damned lucky until his girlfriend killed him by having sex all night.”

Gwen laughs, leaning over him to grab a tissue to quickly clean them up. Thank god. No way he was letting her leave their bed yet – even for a deliciously long hot shower. Priorities. “Damned lucky _until_?”

“Damned lucky because,” he corrects, his eyes sliding shut as her slender fingers traced his swollen lips. “How long d’ya reckon we have til we have company? I could do with some more dying.”

“In the olden days, you would’ve been called a shameless wonton, I believe.”

“Pretty sure that title was just for the ladies, wasn’t it? Bodice rippers weren’t my thing, exactly.”

He takes a deep breath (and he can start to feel his heart rate decelerating, finally), watching as she covers him with her lithe body, her hands coming to rest on his sweaty chest, whorls of grey hair flattened under her fingertips. “Or mine,” she says with a grin. “Besides, I’ll call you what I want to.”

“Bossy Gwen. My favorite.” Her lips are slightly cracked when they meet his and he slides a hand down to her hips, loving the way she smiles against him at his touch. Ever since the first time they’d slept together (slightly tipsy, slightly too fast), he’s been in love with how responsive she is, even something as small as the way her skin flushes when he blows hotly on her thighs. “One of my favorites, anyway.”

“Better hope Mommy Gwen is one of them,” she retorts with a raised eyebrow as a pounding noise starts at their bedroom door. “At least he’s learned to knock?”

Groaning, Blake reaches an arm down to the floor next to their bed and picks up the necessary clothing, helping Gwen back into her bra and tiny pajama shorts, and pulling on a pair of his own camo pants. It’s a practiced change, this one, borne out of almost two years of children choosing to interrupt as many of their intimate moments as possible. Probably not on purpose, he’ll grant, but still…

“How about you stop banging and get your tiny butt in here!” Blake calls out, running a quick hand through his hair. Impossible. Apollo’s up and on top of him in about five seconds and if he was a betting man, he’d guess even less. “Gonna squish my tummy today, hey, bud? Make me vomit all over the bed?”

“Grosssss,” Apollo squeals, his eyes still sleepy but his fists drumming a steady beat on his chest. “Gross gross gross gross.”

“YOU’RE the gross one,” Blake says indignantly, tossing the toddler onto the blanket that’s currently half sliding off the bottom of the bed. “Gotta stay away so you don’t infect Mommy and me.”

Apollo lets out a tiny growl from the back of his throat and launches himself back towards his quasi stepfather (the term’s the right one even if they’re not married yet, but he can’t really say it loud, and it’s becoming increasingly frustrating), his nails scoring little red marks into Blake’s skin. He bites back a curse, and lets Apollo play. Because yeah, it’s a game, one in which both of them usually end up panting and clothes askew and apologizing to Gwen for the noise. Occasionally Zuma hears the ruckus and joins in, but Kingston’s decided he’s close enough to being a teenager that he’s going to sleep in as long as possible every single day, even if it means missing out on some of the cartoons he secretly still enjoys.  

 

Breakfast is no quieter (it rarely is, except for the days when the boys are with their dad) and it’s not really anything Blake had ever thought about, even in those days in his past when he’d let himself dream a little about what it might be like to have kids. At that point, the hypothetical children had either been squally, smelly little babies or nearly grown and joining him on hunting trips. The reality is better, a hundred fold.

“Only two rashers?” Zuma asks, his face screwed up with disgust. “Really? How do you even expect me to grow?!”

Blake puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder sympathetically. “A tough break. Your mom knows best, though.”

Rolling his eyes, the nine-year-old bounces to the other side of the counter and takes another strip of bacon from Zelva’s hand. He lets Gwen step in and negotiate. He’s learned pretty well, he thinks, about when to back off and let her handle things and when she actually wants him to help out. It was weird at first, not knowing exactly when he could parent them, so to speak. Throwing a baseball or helping Apollo cut up his food was a hell out of a lot easier than knowing what to say when Kingston had sworn out loud at his younger brother, for example. Christ. That had been a day…

“Babe? You’re gonna have to take Apollo back to his room, ‘k?”

Turning his head back towards the fridge, he groans at the sight. “I mean, at least he hadn’t already gotten changed for school?” Sweeping the boy up in his arms and hauling him over his shoulder with his stomach facing upwards, he leaves for the boys’ bathroom. “I swear, ‘pollo, I didn’t even know we had that much cream.”

“I wanted somes on the cereal.”

“Not sure cream works quite as well as milk, but understood. We’ll need to clean you up real quick though. Don’t wanna be late.”

 

Two hours and three school drops later, Gwen’s head is on his shoulder and Blake’s trying to pretend he doesn’t need to start packing. They’re planning to arrive in Oklahoma before nightfall and he’s pretty sure they’re going to be running late at the pace they’re going, which is to say, no pace at all. Gwen nuzzles into the crook of his neck and he shifts on the couch, moving backwards so she can half lay on him.

“Need a nap, hmm?”

“Need ten naps,” she insists, pressing a kiss just near his top button. “I swear, sometimes I’m actually glad I ended up with three kids instead of four. Can you imagine?”

Blake doesn’t answer, not sure what response is the right one here anyway. Her voice is a little wistful, and… Well, it’s something they’ve discussed, maybe as many times as it’s been a topic on those freaking tabloids, to be honest, and one day they’ll have to make a decision or it’ll be too late for any decision to even be made. That day apparently isn’t today, though, and so he simply kisses the side of her head and squeezes her arm gently.

“Kingston says he’s coming next time, by the way.”

“To Mexico?”

“To anywhere,” she clarifies with a wry smile. “Apparently it’s not fair that we get to go traveling and have fun while he’s stuck at school.”

Blake shrugs. “The more time with him, the better.”

Gwen’s eyes soften at his casual words and even though that’s not WHY he said it (he means it, weirdly enough, even if he couldn’t have imagined that a few years ago), it makes his heart thud a little faster.

“We’ll get him some tequila to make up for it, yeah?”

The sound of his girlfriend’s hand hitting his leg in mock consternation echoes in the large, childless living room.


End file.
